


Finding Swan

by Vanessa_Brand



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanessa_Brand/pseuds/Vanessa_Brand
Summary: Dejected, alone and submerged in deep regret, Captain Hook could no longer adjust to life as a pirate after returning to the Enchanted Forest through Pan's curse. Life without Emma Swan no longer seemed to make any sense. He contemplates the possibility of ending it... until a bird lands on the helm of the Jolly Roger with a note that changes everything. This time, he has to be the hero and find Emma to bring her back home.He will travel through any realm, endure any kind of trial and face any danger if it means fighting for The Savior... if only to just see her again.Season 2-3 hiatus
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. A Sail and a Sale

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: I have been posting my work at "that other place" as Cute McBeauty, and while I've had this account for ages I never quite got around to using it so I'm giving it a go. I'll be transferring some of these stories over and maybe re-hashing some of them; I always kind of liked this one but since I wrote it while the show was still airing, the end will be revamped completely because even when I do like a good AU I mostly like to write stories that fit into canon at least partially.  
> Hope you enjoy this!

  1. A sail and a sale.



The days dragged around him much like they had in Neverland, with a fiery feeling that seemed to burn his heart day in and day out, only a bit worse because at least in Neverland he had her... or didn't, but she was at least there, next to him, fighting for a common cause. But not any more.

A similar feeling of abandonment had haunted him for hundreds of years (had he really lived that long?), except this one was consuming him rather than feeding his desire to live long enough to kill someone. He had betrayed a mermaid princess to secure the planks he now sailed on with his new crew, refusing her request of help to find her prince, marauded on some distant shore, and defeated a rival pirate to claim her as his own again. He had honestly thought the colored planks and ropes of the Jolly Roger would quickly drown that terrible, hollow void in his heart. Alas, days, weeks, months had passed... and he found himself sailing an insipid ocean of woes and sorrows, regrets, desires unfulfilled... and the teasing memory of a kiss, still tickling his lips, a playful reminder of what could have been... and a torture that was set to haunt him for the rest of his days.

Some evenings, when the crew slept, he'd sit atop the deck and look at the stars... He'd see swan figured constellations guiding his ship to nowhere. She didn't remember him... she didn't know who he was and how much he loved her any more. She no longer had a clue regarding their times, adventures and conversations and in spite of her not reciprocating his feelings, he ached at the thought that Captain Hook would be nothing more than some comedic character from a children's film, a villain in the pages of a book (a hideous one at that!), and nothing else. She harbored no recollection of the kiss she had given him in Neverland, that kiss that was child's play to her but had completely and utterly turned his whole world upside down. And while she no longer even held the memory of his voice, his eyes, his smile, he had so far maintained himself true to his words, those last words he had ever said to her... _'There's not a day will go by that I won't think of you...'_

And he had, every single day, hour and minute... And it hurt, like a million knives to his already blackened, tainted heart.

On one occasion of many where he spent those cold nights adrift in the ocean, he stared into the vast infinity of the ocean around him and the stars that reflected upon the peaceful stillness of the waters, gloriously crowned by a full moon. No significant amount of Rum would ever be able to quench that desire to reach out and feel her, touch her, kiss her, or maybe just... just see her one last time. If only he could... Like many nights before, her name echoed painfully on his lips. "Emma...", before he felt the gust of wind in his eyes which triggered the tears that always found their way down his scuffed, scarred cheeks. The pain was far worse than what it had been when Milah had died. He had at least given her a sea burial, said his goodbye and turned to a different direction after she had gone, albeit a tortuous, vengeful one. But he had survived. Here, he had nowhere left to turn, no calling for vengeance or love, just a life adrift.

This was probably worse than Milah and Liam's passing put together.

He had toyed with the notion of committing his miserable self to Davy Jones's Locker. With her gone from his life and him from her memories, he had no direction to sail to. No sextant, no magic or treasure could ever replace the green glint in her eye or the sunshine of her hair. He had stepped atop the deck for his final time.

With a sorrowful sigh, he took a swig from his flask and tossed the now empty bottle into the sea. His hand gingerly touched the handles of the helm, polished by years of his hand's friction, and caressed it as he would a loyal dog. He grinned a sad grin, tears running down his eyes. "I'm sorry, old girl." He spoke to his ship, his only loyal love, if only a material bunch of 'planks and a sail', as Ariel had stated. "A better Captain deserves to set your course. I'm far too broken now, m'girl, not man enough for a beauty like yourself. I yearn for another love, one that I can never have nor will I ever see again... you must understand. I truly wish I had been right, I truly wish you had been all I needed. And you were, m' darling, for the longest of times... but now, you must continue sailing and I... I will stop here. I thank you, my beauty..."

It was odd, but he could have sworn that the ship replied with a long, high pitched sound of creaking wood. The Jolly Roger ached for her master's heartache and mourned for their soon-to-be parting.

With a sigh, he cleaned off his tears with the frilled sleeve of his black shirt, and set out to fasten the wooden plank along the edge of the ship. How many crones, villains and malfeasants, pirates, guardsmen, fathers, sons and brothers had he pushed off the wavering edge of the Jolly's plank? He didn't really know. But he understood that all deeds have a price... and this was his. To endure a lifetime of ache and sorrow, alone, cursed with the mermaid's malediction, and the tragedy of Emma's oblivion. The one thing that made him grin amidst the darkness of his final thoughts was the notion that she was well, she was safe and happy with her son.

He stepped atop the plank and walked, feeling the unsteady wobble of the ship like he never had before, gingerly trying to reach the edge. He closed his eyes and grinned, feeling the breeze hit his face, longing for a life he no longer had and a woman he no longer knew...

And the impulse to jump into the watery chasm of his death was interrupted by the sound of fluttering wings.

He turned with a scorn to his helm; sitting atop, was a pigeon... a white pigeon.

"What the hell..."

He knew he was far too deep in the sea to have a shore bird of the sort come from land. This one possessed magic... and though his squinting eyes he saw something attached to its leg.

Curiosity took the best of him as he returned from the edge of death and approached the wanderlust bird, who cooed softly as he took it into his hand, reaching with his teeth to retrieve what seemed to be a message scribbled on a piece of fabric... and a tiny blue bottle. He gingerly took the white bird in his hand as it flapped its wings. "There now... shh..." He cooed like the pigeon itself. "What have you for me?" Once he took the message and cargo from the bird, it swiftly took off, too fast even for Hook's keen eyes to follow.

Definitely some kind of magic. 

After unfurling the scrolled piece of fabric, he had to read the words more than once to fully grasp the meaning of the message... and he felt a sudden gush of wind sweep through the mast, helm and decks of the Jolly Roger, returning a glimpse of light, of hope, into his burdened heart.

_**'New curse coming, less than two days. Find The Savior. Memory potion in flask. Be the hero, Captain, bring Emma back home to Storybrooke.** '_

For the first time in months, he felt an inevitable smile tickle his lips and a mild scuff left his lungs as color once again filled his sullen face. "Emma..." he whispered.

Savior indeed; by the mere mention of her name she had just saved his life, yet again and without her even knowing it!

Forgetting the death wish of the earlier hour, he swiftly climbed all the way atop the mast and jumped into the top basket. Using his sextant, he measured the exact latitude where the Charmings had last been, as well as the possible course to as distant a land as possible.

He grabbed a rig and slid all the way back down to the deck, and jumped to the alarm bell, ringing his crew awake. It took less than a minute for all the groggy pirate sailors to reach the deck and stand in line before the Captain.

"Listen here, you mangy dogs!" He started. "There's word of a new curse headed our way from the Enchanted Forest. The wind favors us tonight, so we are to deviate from this course and shall anchor over at Shoreman's Cove... There, all of you shall spend the rest of the day looking for the necessary provisions, to be back in the ship at no later than oh-two-hundred hours. From there we sail south- south east, as fast as the wind can carry us. Is that clear?"

"AYE AYE, SIR!" They all shouted before scurrying off in different directions, pulling ropes, setting white sails aloft a strong breeze... and the Captain proudly standing behind the helm of his ship.

Smee stood beside him. "Sir, the plank is set."

"I'm aware of that, Smee..."

"Did you do off with one of your crew, sir?"

Hook turned two dark blue eyes under thick eyebrows. "No, but I shall, should you not cease this line of interrogation on your Captain..." Hook replied, irritated.

The podgy man scratched his head under his red hat. "Sorry sir, it just seems awfully odd to me. The plank should not be set if no man is to be thrown overboard."

"The only oddity here, Mr. Smee..." Killian stood mere inches from his face. "...Is for the first mate to be so bloody nosey of his Captain's private affairs. Now, this is my final warning: Leave... off. Now, will you continue this pointless pursuit at your very own peril, or shall you just do as you're bloody told?"

Smee swallowed hard and nodded. "Im sorry sir. I'll get started right away..." And off he walked.

Stern looking, Hook looked into the horizon; but for all his efforts, he was incapable of concealing the impudent grin that lined his lips. "Emma..." He kept whispering to himself. "I'm coming to you, love..."

The Jolly reached the shores of the fishing town of Shoreman's Cove just after dawn; seeing the infamous ship of the well known bucaneer Captain Hook, the local fishermen cowered away and left the harbors free for the pirates to freeload. But the Captain instructed his crew to go in and go deep, to buy rum, apples and dried meat. Plus, he gave them three hours' shore leave, with three pounds of gold a piece, a luxury for his sailors and a sly way of lightening the weight of the vessel. On his part, he ran into the town to greet an old witch that owed him a favor, and purchased from her a small amount of pixie dust from Neverland to give the ship the swiftness he would need to outrun the curse. Once in his pocket, he made his way back to the Jolly Roger to supervise the remaining crew as they left for shore.

Within minutes of his return, the entire crew had squandered and he was left alone. No sooner had the last sailor taken his leave, he immediately set sail, fast and swift.

Along the way he started to try and lighten the weight of the ship; he dumped barrels of rum over the edge, books, furniture, clothing and (with the deepest sorrow), his brother's books, maps and general belongings. When the curse was finally in plain view, he practically became a one-man crew; he had managed to outrun many a storm, but a curse was another thing altogether. Killian had practically been on his feet for over a day, was wet and cold to the bone and could feel that his ship would fall apart at any given second.

But on he pressed. "Go on, girl, hold out for me..." 

When he turned his head back, he saw how the massive cloud of green smoke engulfed the village he had left not an hour earlier, and a sigh of regret for his betrayal to his loyal crew left his lips. Still, he had no time to sit and wallow; he had a savior to save. Reaching into his pocket and licking his finger to use the most favorable winds, he uncorked the little bottle with the pixie dust and the glistening powder flew straight from his hand into the main sail. Immediately, the ship lifted off the water, and although it didn't fly outright, it hovered at least far away from the water to triple its speed. 

He certainly was one hell of a Captain.

By the time he reached the Eastern shores and the dessert dunes, the curse had run its course. He allowed himself the luxury of collapsing on his bed and sleeping for an entire day before placing a generous amount of dubloons in his pockets and setting out to the local village in search of another wizard, seer, witch or magician who might have either a bean of the adequate wand to set him on his way back to Emma.

He asked in every tavern where he could find a procurer of rare items, or a sorcerer... And the one person he encountered surprised even him.

In a sense, seeing that Blackbeard was alive after he had shoved him off the edge of the plank was a relief; he had been burdened with guilt since their encounter, both because he had abandoned Ariel to her quest and because, regardless of the dubious laws of piracy that acknowledged his actions, it no longer felt right to kill a man. Apparently, after diving off the Jolly Roger, the young mermaid had saved Blackbeard in exchange for the location of her prince; the pirate had kept his word of gratitude for saving him and led the young mermaid to her prince Eric.

They met at a dark tavern just off a beaten road, not far from the docks. Killian sat, tapping his hook on the wooden table, staring into the eyes of his foe, who held a pistol under the wooden slab, aimed directly at Hook's gut, while Hook held his blade to Blackbeard's groin.

They were locked; they either struck a deal or killed one another.

"So, let me see if I understand you, Hook..." the babbling older pirate spoke with a sarcastic smirk, his eyes clad in black eyeliner. "You have come here in search of passage to the other worlds, eh? And you were told that I would likely be the best source for it..." He laughed and leaned into the table. "And what makes you think I'd cooperate, mate?"

Killian smiled his deadliest grin. "Because, everyone knows who Edward Teach and Killian Jones are... and, that they are pirates, the very worst of them. As such, mate, we have a code to follow..." He leaned forward, his blade pressed against his enemy's privates. "Should you provide me with a satisfactory response, I am willing to repay you... quite handsomely." He clucked his tongue. "Should you not, well..." he grinned. "We shall both die. And neither one of us will profit. Alas, unlike you, I have nothing to lose."

Blackbeard laughed. "And why should I trust you?"

"Well, for one, I have my sword too close to your personals, love. By the time you pull the trigger, you will have bled halfway out. You know how fast a bladesman Captain Hook is known to be, don't you? So, it's either that, or..." he shrugged. "We do business and have over and done with. The fact that we are pirates should not deter us from being gentlemen, now, should it, Teach?"

"And I suppose it was awfully gentlemanly on your part to shove me off the plank, then, Jones..."

"No more than stealing a fellow pirate's ship, mate." Killian grinned, tilting his head sideway. "The code entitled me to either maraud you, behead you or make you walk the plank. The latter seemed a little less... melodramatic." He shrugged. "I like to think I did you a favor."

Blackbeard huffed and licked his lower lip. He chuckled and looked back up to Hook. "Verily... before I even dare ask what it is you offer, Hook..." He leaned forward on the table. "I must say, I can't deny the fact that I feel deadly curious as to your musings. You were once the deadliest pirate of these oceans, even fiercer than I and Long John silver put together..." He chuckled ironically. "Then we all become aware that Captain Hook has gone soft for some unworldly wench. So... what makes you want to leave the realm this time? Same bird?"

Hook pressed his lips together. "My business is my own. Are you up to the trade, or are you not?"

Blackbeard laughed aloud. "Hook, Hook, Hook... Did you not only just suggest we be gentlemen?" he raised his one free hand with a chuckle. "Answer my query and I might just consider making a deal with you... Is this for some bloody snip, that you do all this? Has the infamous one-handed terror of the oceans truly lost his gut for love?"

Killian gritted his teeth and snarled back at Blackbeard. "I've not lost my guy, but I have become a far better man than you ever will be. She, mate... is The Savior. And that is all you need to know." He too, leaned into the table. "So then, Blackbeard... will there be a trade, or should I take my quest elsewhere, to someone who might just be interested in the Jolly Roger?

Black beard raised an eyebrow. "Your vessel..."

"Aye..."

"For a bloody bean?"

Hook swallowed. "That is all I need."

Blackbeard swept his adversary with his gaze before suddenly pulling away his armed hand and placing the pistol on the table. Hook lowered the blade.

"Well, I do believe you have all but lost your bloody mind, Captain Hook." Blackbeard smirked. "I could just as easily put a hole through your spleen and take your ship."

"Aye, you could." Killian nodded. "But you won't. Quite simply because... well..." he grinned again. "...you can't wait to flaunt my ship to the world as your own... and to tell everyone that I willingly yielded her to you in exchange for that particular merchandise. You can't tell the world that Captain Hook has gone soft if he's dead now, can you? You can't wait to become this realm's most cutthroat pirate, now, to have control of MY trade routes on MY ship, the idea of that is just far too enticing, mate. So..." he placed his blade back into its sheath and placed his open palm on the table. "Do we have a deal?"

Blackbeard's eyes rolled from Killian's hand to his eyes, and a smile cruised his lips. "You willingly seek such humiliation, Hook?"

Killian raised an eyebrow and replied promptly. "I'll have you do as you will, mate, I have no intention of returning to this blasted realm."

After staring hard into Hook's eyes, Blackbeard laughed aloud. "This wench must be a bloody goddess..." He reached out and shook his foe's hand. When he pulled away, a single, white bean sat on Hook's palm.

Killian grinned and closed a fist around it, taking it to his lips as he closed his eyes, his every thought focused on his Swan as he reached into his pocket for the key to unlock the helm of the Jolly Roger. He held it out to Blackbeard, who took it gently from Hook's fingers. "She's yours, mate. Sail her well."

"Oh..." He nodded. "I intend to..." Hook huffed, nodded and stood to walk away and set course to Emma's side as soon as possible. "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain Hook!" He shouted mockingly from the table as he pocketed the key.

Killian turned a sad and unburdened look at the other pirate, grinning and shaking his head. "Wish I could say the same, mate..." And out he walked before anyone in the joint could see the tears in his eyes.

From the distance, he took one final glance at his ship; he heaved and bit his lip.

"Swan..." he muttered under his breath. "I will find you..." He turned and walked away, never to look back again.

In spite of his sadness over the loss of his beloved ship, his heart felt light. Sure, Blackbeard, he knew, would slander his name. He would be the one to sail his vessel to the far confines of the realm, sleep in the bed that had sheltered him countless nights and take over his trade routes... but he didn't care; he was to see Emma again. And that alone made him smile from ear to ear as he threw the bean hard onto the barren floor. As the vortex swirled beneath his feet, a deep sigh echoed the name of his love: "Emma Swan.... Emma Swan...", and in her blessed name, he took a leap of faith into the revolving hole, thinking her, feeling her, seeing her in his mind and praying that the gateway would lead him to the right location.


	2. New York

Blasted New York City…

He had been there before, almost two years earlier, only that in that previous escapade he had carefully planned the death "The Crocodile" and had traced his every step, poisoned the tip of his hook with Dreamshade and stabbed him. 

He now thanked every living god in every realm he had failed.

The swirling vortex opened up in an alleyway just off Times Square; Killian was thrown to the concrete ground and landed on his left shoulder, a spot that since the loss of his hand had never quite been the same. He winced in pain and turned on his back, trying to breathe deep and make the pain disappear. As he opened his eyes he was greeted with the image of a homeless man and the foul smell of cheap liquor fell upon his nostrils.

"Hey man..." the guy said. "Are you like... the Terminator, or something?"

Killian huffed and sat up. "Bloody hell..." he reached to the back of his head and rubbed the nape that had taken a mild bump. He looked around, his eyes greeted by the familiar sight of massive edifices that had once already served him as beacons; because if there was anything Captain Hook was good at, it was at finding his way.

"Where am I?" hook blurted, just to be on the safe side.

"New York City, man, 2014." The bum slurred. "You're looking for Sarah Connor, still?"

Killian winced. "Sarah who? No, mate... Emma Swan. You know her?"

The homeless guy's eyes widened. "I knew it was a real fucking story! The savior of the future..." He held his bottle up, defensively. "You gonna kill me, now?"

He huffed at the homeless guy. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, because you're the ter..."

"Tell me, mate... what do I do if I want to find someone in this city?"

The bum took two steps back. "Mister, for five bucks I'll tell you where you can find your own mother..."

Killian sneered at the man and then stood up. As far as he was concerned, a buck was a male deer and he had no need for one, let alone five beasts. "You're talking nonsense, man. My mother expired the day I was born." He adjusted his satchel over his shoulder and stood, still aching over his left shoulder. "Now, all I need to do is find her..."

The homeless guy furrowed his dirty brow and eyed Hook from head to toe. "Why are you dressed like that, buddy?" He grabbed a corner of Hook's duster and opened it curiously.

Killian returned the gaze and stepped away from the man. "And why are YOU dressed like that?" He shrugged and walked off. "Village idiot..."

"Insensitive asshole!" the bum shouted at him as he left the alleyway.

Killian walked for what felt like hours when it had been maybe no more than forty five minutes. He had forgotten the crowds of this particular city and it bewildered him that his lovely Emma (not technically his, but he WOULD win her heart) would choose to live in such a rat race. He remembered that, when he perused a way to find The Dark One, he resorted to all sorts of cleverness: and he'd do the same to find Emma.

He pawned some of his gold doubloons for an amount of money he considered enough to sustain him for at least two weeks. He was shocked at the cost of real estate, so he settled for a dingy hotel room right in front of the subway tracks. That first night he was merrily accompanied by the wonderful sounds of the couple next door, going for it full jolt. "Lovey..." he huffed, his whole feeling of loneliness exacerbated by the sounds of what sounded like a wonderful time.  
He slept through it anyway; he wasn't a picky guy.

Early the next morning he approached the front desk. "Mate... if I am set out to find someone, let's say, a person that dwells in this madness of a city, where should I start looking?"

The greasy old white guy behind the counter scratched his butt as he approached Killian. "Whoa, dude, that hook is fuckin' dope!" He nodded, visibly altered by some substance.

"Yes, I am rather fond of it myself, now can you help me?"

"Yeah..." He wiped his nose with his hand, an act that made Killian sneer; in all his years as a pirate and despite the awful reputation they had regarding hygiene, the crew of the Jolly Roger had the uncanny order to remain clean and keep their quarters rat and grime free at all times. Must have been the military man in him. "You might need the phone book."

"Phone book?"

The guy huffed and produced a thick, damaged phone book from under the desk. "This one should do, buddy. Please don't ask me to look the name up for you as well..."

"Actually..." Hook sneered. "I've no idea how to..."

The man huffed. "Not my problem, dude... It's alphabetical order, you figure it out..." he started walking back to his sitting place in a back room where an old tv flashed incandescent lights on the walls. He stopped midway and turned to Killian. "By the way, man, why are you dressed like that?"

Hook raised one eyebrow and one eye at the guy before turning his attention back to the phone book.

It wasn't until that moment that Killian Jones realized his eyesight wasn't all that good; the print on that thing was so small he'd sooner be able to see an army of ants smiling before making out what that blasted book read.

Must have been all those years of glaring into the sun and the sea.

He started by looking up Emma. But it took him only a few seconds to realize he had to go by the name Swan. And once he found it, the list was at least a thousand names long. Thereon, he narrowed his search down to all the Emmas he could find and eventually ended up ripping out the page, not before also looking up Neal Cassidy. His name would likely help him out in his quest.

Back in his room, Killian was definitely in need for a drink, especially after he realized he would have to sift through at least fifty different Emma Swans. Neal was far easier to locate, but was still one between thirteen or fourteen. "How she can live here, I'll never know..." he huffed.

Then there was the whole issue of telephones.

The first thing that he noticed was that the damn phonebook only held series of numbers after each name; no addresses or maps. Killian huffed and ran a hand through his hair, his elbow on his knee. "What the bloody hell are these things?" He first thought they'd be coordinates, but they didn't make any sense form a cartographic standpoint, especially if they were all in the same city.

He once again went to the streets, in search, first and foremost, of a map. He was led (after asking around, much to his determent), where to obtain one. Once he had a map in hand it was far easier for him to move around, albeit much tougher.

The second order of the day was figuring out what the hell those numbers were all about. He felt like a fool, a former glorious pirate with the most sought-after vessel of the seas, the Captain of the Jolly Roger and its infamous crew... and now he was a ridiculously clad, one handed tourist who didn't even know what the hell a phone was.   
He just wound up sitting at a bench, just looking at people passing by... when a guy sat by his side... rather closely. 

"Psst, man..."

Killian turned around and found the young man was holding a rather sizeable knife under his jacket. "Your wallet..."

Killian huffed and chuckled. He drew a deep breath and turned a grinning face to the young thief. "Listen, lad... You don't want to mess with me right now. I've had a hell of a day but I am decidedly making my best effort to do the right thing and not cave into the darkness, so I will just let you stand up and leave... now."

The kid prodded Killian with the knife. "You think this is a fucking joke, man? Gimme your wallet, now or I'll cut you up, motherfucker..."

The pirate continued to stare at the boy, eyebrow up, and shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Such unnecessarily foul language... Alas... you cannot say you went unwarned, boy."

From nowhere, Killian's fake hand flew across the boy's face and the startled bandit dropped the knife and fell to the floor. Killian stood and grabbed him from his lapel after kicking the knife into the gutter. He dragged the boy against the wall under a bridge, the sound of the subway passing above their heads, and held him by the neck against a column. "Now you listen here, mate: I have been around this world far longer than you wish to fathom. So let me make myself perfectly clear: any... rouse, trick or hassle that you think you may have nailed down and picked up along the course of your petty, pathetic little life, is but an amateur's dalliance compared to what a man such as I can do to you, should you not apologize and leave immediately after I am done with you..."

The kid was barely able to drag enough air. "You... crazy, man!"

Killian grinned and shrugged. "Aye, that I am. And I'm rather dashing too, but that doesn't help our current conundrum now... does it?"

"What do you want?" The thief asked.

Killian released his grasp on the guy's throat and moved it to the lapel. "You will help me figure out what these bloody things are..." He wrinkled his nose and sneered right before the man's face, almost whispering. "Let's just say I'm not from around here and I am in no mood to be chastised for it, so I do not want to hear flak from you. Now..." He held the yellow page to the guy's nose. "What do I do to find the people in this list? How the hell do I use the bloody numbers?"

"Y... you mean the phone numbers?" The guy frowned and sneered. "You just... dial and call them, man!"

"Dial?"

"On a phone! Where the fuck do you come from that you don't know what a phone is?"

Killian looked on either side of his shoulders and swiftly changed the hand for the hook. The man swallowed. "Ok, all right, buddy just... ok, I'll show you, ok?"

Hook grinned. "That's a good lad. Now... Where can I find one of these... phones?"

"Th... there's one in the corner, over there..." Hook turned to look and found an eerie contraption encased in some sort of booth. "Or you ... you can have mine! In my pocket."

The pirate reached for the guy's pocket and took some sort of white, rectangular gadget that looked slick and shiny but served no other purpose. "So..." He nodded. "How do I do this?"

The thief winced. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Killian raised both brows and wiggled the hook under his nose. "Big hook here and a foul mood, mate... Won't tell you again."

The guy nodded and took the phone from Hook. He turned it on and activated the touch dial. "See those numbers? You just... dial the numbers you see there and then touch this green thing here and... put this to your ear and talk..."

"Talk to who?"

"To whomever picks up!"

"Picks what up?"

"Jesus, are you for real? Whomever answers on the other end! These are the numbers of people, you moron!"

Killian had no idea what the hell this kid was talking about; but he had all he needed. He'd figure the rest out by himself. "All right. Go now." He moved his hook arm form the man's neck, staring at the strange little gadget in his hand.

The man stepped away from him and eyed him from head to toe. "Why the fuck are you even dressed like that, man? FREAK!" He shook his head and ran off, possibly pondering whether or not his scoundrel days were over.

Killian sighed deep and looked around him. This was going to be tough. But he'd get there, he'd find her.

He smiled and started his walk back home... or back to the smutty, dingy hotel he was lodging in. Once upstairs, he collapsed on his bed and accidentally hit the remote control for the television, that blared to life with a sudden blast of police car chases through Manhattan. Killian jumped and drew his sword, staring at the box in awe. 

"What the shaggin' hell...?" she sneered in shock, dropping the sword on the bed and approaching the box. "What bloody magic is this?"

He had a LOT to figure out.

Once he put two and two together regarding the remote, the television and the annoying sound of the trains that passed a few meters from his window, he sat back and began the arduous task of figuring out how to use the phone. It took him at least a good hour to manage to turn it on; in this particular realm, a hook wasn't quite as practical as it would be in the se or the Enchanted Forest. Eventually, he got the gist, and started dialing, one by one. Some answered, some did not. Some refused to speak, some flirted, some turned out to be men (probably jealous husbands, he thought, and prayed one of them wasn't Emma's), until one particular voice froze him solid.

"Hello?"

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think... all he could do was feel; feel his heart race, his soul soar and his lips turn upwards in a smile that seemed to stem from the very core of his heart. He would know that voice anywhere, everywhere...

"Hello? Who is this?" The voice sounded again.

"Swan..." he managed to whisper.

"Yes?"

Killian laughed and felt the tears run down his face... but then the line went dead. He looked at the thing with angst and saw it had gone dark; no light came from it any more, no matter how many times he tapped, touched or pressed the wee buttons on the sides.

Apparently the thief had failed to explain the need to re-charge a cell phone; batteries were not something Killian Jones would likely know about.

Angered, flustered and frustrated, he threw the gadget against the wall and turned to kick the bed before shouting loud at the ceiling.

He then sat down and held his head in his hand, sighing hard. He then collapsed back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Angered as he may have been, a smile re-emerged on his lips. Her voice... it was her, his swan, his savior... and even if this place would take a hell of a lot of effort to crack down, he'd find her. She was mere miles away; if he had crossed realms, traded his ship and risked his own life... this would be a doddle.

He felt the end of the long, heavy day fall on him and that night he slept, lulled by the memory of the sound of her voice and the promise of seeing her again... soon.


	3. Navigating the Big Apple

Fueled by the sound of Emma's voice the previous day, Killian was up at the crack of dawn, not so much because of his own extremely accurate internal clock, fine-tuned by centuries of naval discipline, but more because of the relentless noise of the subway trains passing meters away from his window. After so many years in Neverland, time had become a tricky prankster for Hook; sometimes his inner ticker alerted him awake, sometimes it didn't. So even as he grumbled his way out of bed, he thanked the noisy clatter of the passing wagons for their kind waking gesture.

In spite of the 'cursed' technology of this realm, he was terribly grateful for showers. Now, that was a nifty contraption! Warm water and assorted hygiene products that smelled like lavender and vanilla bean had been a welcome thing to him, especially after so many years of not having them. Like any good sea Captain, he had become used to having water drawn from the ocean for bathing, cold and brimy. His skin always had a remnant taste of years and years of this daily ritual, the smell of wood, leather and salt always on his skin; many women had often enjoyed that particular trait, and it tickled his imagination to think of Emma tasting his skin, savoring the salty residue of the sea on his body; he would, however, immediately shake off the sinful thought before it had an... ahem, upstanding effect on him. All the same, he had dallied more than once in thoughts, some of a sexual nature, others of plain love and comfort, involving his Swan. Not that he hadn't ever taken action upon them. His private thoughts were his private thoughts and sometimes, the ache of her absence had throbbed so hard on his body that he had needed to make use of his one hand to relieve the tension. Multiple times he had thought of wenching to alleviate his aching, loving libido, but the thought of betrayal of her, even if she hadn't really ever been his, was far too crushing. So, whenever he had been unable to free himself of the thought of her and his manly desire rose to very high levels, he would create one of multiple favorite scenarios in his mind. Sometimes it would be swimming naked with her under a full moon in a calm, open sea; other times, he envisioned her lying on the bed in his quarters, clad only in a see-through white veil; his favorite fantasy, however, was her in the cargo galley, pulling herself up, wearing that white shirt that so well framed her perfect form, a shiny sheen of sweat over her beautiful arms... and then she'd stop, turn and smile at him before removing the top, bearing her figure to his gaze... and then, he'd take matters into his own hands. Or hand. Only to finish, breathe and weep for her absence into his pillow once more.

After taking some extra time in the shower and even humming under the energizing effect of a body and hair shampoo, Killian emerged from the lavatory a new, pleased man. Dried off and clad in his leathers, he styled his hair (a ritual he had always taken with great seriousness, dapper young man that he was), and went back out, determined to at least close down on a specific neighborhood. With the torn piece of phonebook and the map in his hand, Killian walked through the streets. In spite of being left alone, his unusual attire did draw a few bemused gazes. He wasn't even wearing the hook; the 18th century leather suit did all the job for him. At some point a rather attractive hooker came onto him. He was unable to resist turning a flirty grin at her, completely unintentional (it was THAT engraved in his persona, it seemed; he'd have to figure out a way to get that under control or Emma would never, ever be his), smile which disappeared when the beauteous young woman spoke to him in a deep coarse voice and had the handsome pirate running for a block.

At some point, he sat down in Central Park, just looking around; people seemed to go by on all sorts of strange transportation, the only one familiar to him, the horse-drawn buggies; other than that, he was fascinated by what he figured would be called "wheel-shoes", which basically consisted of a line of colorful wheels on shoes. Some of these people were even able to dance in them; why anyone would dance around in the open was beyond him. Then there was the "two-wheel horse", where the person riding the contraption would be pedaling and making two large tires spin on their axis.

"Clever people in this realm.." He grinned, thinking that he would perhaps very much enjoy learning to ride one of those.

At some point he zeroed on another phone booth, much like the one the thief of the previous day had pointed out for him. He knew that the number alone wouldn't do much good, but he wanted to hear her voice again. It took him a while to figure out he had to put coins into the slot (Bloody things!) before he got the general idea and managed to dial her number. The other line rang incessantly, but she didn't pick up. Instead, he heard a loud beep.

"Hi, you reached Emma..." "

And Henry!"

"Hello lad!" Killian replied happily. "Glad to hear..."

"We're not home right now..."

"But if you leave a message..."

"We will get back to you!"

BEEEEEP!

Killian pulled the receiver away from his ear. "Right..." He licked his lips as he placed the receiver back down, utterly confused. "I wonder if anyone in this blasted realm still uses the spoken word at all..."

This was going to be a doozy.

Then there was the matter with the two cops on horses. Killian had established to steer as far away from trouble as he could; the last thing he needed was to wind up in a brig where he would not be at all able to come up with a feasible story as to his identity and his rather unusual garb. But from the depth of the park rode two police officers on horses, eyeing him rather curiously.

"Oh, bloody hell..." Killian muttered under his breath as he stood to leave.

"Hey! Hey you!" One cop shouted.

"The guy in the leathers!" The other echoed.

Killian stopped without turning his face and just rolled his blue eyes with a huff before finally turning to face the approaching cops. As a pirate he was more than accustomed to being stopped in streets and alleyways for no particular purpose and he was rather amused to see that people were still people, regardless of the realm; especially annoying guardsmen... or cops.

"Afternoon lads." He said with his best smile.

"What are you, some kind of rock star?" One of the cops giggled.

_What the bleeding hell is a rock star?_ Killian thought as he simply shrugged. "Not especially, mate..."

"So, what's with the, uhm... attire, then buddy?" The other cop pointed down from his horse at Killian's leather trench coat. "You just got off the Tardis, or what?"

_The what, now?!_ He thought, and it must have shown that he was somewhat stunned, because the other cop sneered in his direction.

"Hey... are you on something?" "On.. something?" He asked, confused. "You been hittin' the bottle, pal?"

Killian huffed and smiled again. "Gentlemen, I can assure you I have no clue what you are referring to, but if you mean to ask whether or not I am sound of mind, I can assure you that I am, and I am in the midst of a crucial quest, so if you don't mind, and if there is nothing else I might assist you with, I will be on my way..."

The cops giggled. "A quest... Does he sound sound of mind to you, Bob?"

"Naa... He's talking like Jack Sparrow, or some English pirate of sorts." Killian side grinned.

"I can assure you, sirs, I am not British. I only speak the language. Mighty fine gift to the realms, that language..." _You got the pirate part right at least_ , he thought, bemused.

The cops exchanged a wry look before turning to Killian. "The realms, huh? Fine. And just what's in your agenda today, pal?"

"Just..." He shrugged with a cheeky but sincere grin. "...looking for the love of my life. And what brings you fine gentlemen out here?"

The 'fine gentlemen' tag seemed to sit well with the cops. "Well... just doin' the beat."

"Ah, certainly, you are." Killian grinned, completely oblivious to the meaning of "the beat". He was terrified out of his mind, but he maintained his usual calm and somehow seemed to be winning these guys over.

"So anyway, man, why are you dressed like that?"

That question was starting to get really irritating; Killian simply grinned and huffed. "I just like to dress this way, mate; it's sort of... who I am. This IS New York, is it not?"

"You really take retro to the extreme, pal!" The other guy laughed. "I have to say, the duster's really out of this world."

Hook chuckled and scratched behind his ear. "That, it is..."

The two cops exchanged glances once again. "You sure you're not drunk, buddy?"

"Stone sober, mates." Killian did a little balance shift on the tips of his boots. "Sound as a pound."

The cops now seemed amused by this English guy with the leather, eyeliner and fake hand; Hook, meanwhile, was hoping they wouldn't notice his knees rattling.

"Well, good luck finding the... love of your life there, pal..."

"Actually..." Killian took two steps towards them, turning on the charm full jolt. "Maybe you two dashing chaps can lend me a hand, since... " he shrugged and smiled, looking at the fake hand. "...Well, you know, I only got one of those..."

"Dashing chaps?" One smiled.

"Certainly! Any man who rides a horse and dedicates himself to the line of hero duty is dashing, by definition alone..."

"Well, I don't know about you Bob, but I am rather dashing myself..." The other cop laughed.

Killian nodded. _Bloody idiots_ , he thought, smiling from ear to ear as he launched into one of his best performances. "Here's the thing, mates.. I sort of..." He winced. "...lost my boy to my former missus and... Well, she won't let me see him and I really want to win her back. His name is Henry... Henry Swan." He produced the torn page from the phone book. " Here, see? Emma Swan. That's my love's name."

One of the cops shrugged. "Well, pal, if she has a court order against you, there's not a thing we can..."

"Oh, no no no, she has nothing of the sort." He affirmed, and decided to use his best pirate act, one that always seemed to work with what he called, the feeble-minded, and that before ever meeting Swan and even believing he'd ever be a part of this, had gotten him laid plenty of times whenever a girl resisted his gorgeous charms."You see, I am rather ill..."

"Ill?"

"Aye. It is terminal."

The two cops' faces fell. "Darn bud, what a bad break."

"Aye, that it is..." Killian said, his eyes watering. "I just really... want to find my love, get her back from that... beast she dwells with..."

"Beast?"

"Aye. She left me for a monstrous being. And my boy, he... might believe his own father abandoned him to his luck..."

When Killian's eyes finally dropped tears down his cheeks, the cops were sold. "I do not... want to leave this realm without telling them both... how much I love them, at least." His voice broke. "The problem is, I have no idea where to even begin looking... This is such a... vast city. I may ave but a few days..." He swallowed a thick knot. "... and the sooner I get to them, the sooner they will know... "

Damn. Such a charming guy with such cool swagger and such a cool accent and such a cool attitude... That bitch.

The cop called Bob unsaddled and took the paper from Killian. "Here..." He nodded, pointing at the telephone Killian had indicated. "That's in Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" Killian sniveled.

"Yeah, from the area code... around the Flatbush area. You need to head south, friend, take the F or B lines, get off at either Prospect or Flatbush. The woman and your kid should be around that area."

Cleaning his eyes with a smile, Killian returned the chaste, gracious glare. "Just... what are these, F or B lines, mates? I'm not from this town."

"Here..." The other cop handed him his Metro Card. "It still has a few good trips on it."

"It's for the subway train, buddy You do have those in England, right?"

"Oh... why certainly, yes, we do!" He smiled, wondering whether or not he'd survive this day in one piece. "Pray tell, where do I board this... wonderful train?"

"Over there..." Bob nodded his head over in the direction of a shaft that apparently led to some sort of tunnel. "Remember, either F or B, heading south to Coney or Brighton, you get off the train at either Prospect or Flatbush."

"Ok..." Killian produced a little scrap of paper from the map. "Prospect... or ..." He looked up at them. "You fellas don't happen to have a quill, do you?"

"I got this!" One said, producing a ball pen.

Killian sneered at it as he took it. "Yeah. That'll do..." He wrote down: Flatbush... Prospect." He then returned the pen to the cop. "I can't thank you enough for your kindness..." The only person to have read clean through those final lines (spoken with a shaky, quivering voice), had been Emma Swan. Up until her, no one had ever been able to tell just what he was really up to with his angelic blue glare and shaky lower jaw. And these people were certainly not Emma Swan. How he missed her then and there... even if that particular memory elicited being held at knifepoint and getting tied to a tree with ogres amidst.

The two cops greeted their new unlucky friend farewell and wished him all the best on his "quest". He really hadn't lied when he said he was out looking for the love of his life. And maybe also in part that thing about Henry being "his kid". He certainly wouldn't mind. But the rest...

"Muttonheads..." He smiled and wiped the remains of his fake tears as he turned tail and headed to the tunnel.

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The Captain stood around at least a good hour, observing people. He really didn't want to draw any more attention to himself, even if the outfit did that on its own. He watched and basically learned on sight how to use the card to get into the trains. Now that part really didn't represent much of a challenge; up on the walls of the tunnels were maps of the New York Subway system; and if Killian Jones was good at one thing, it was navigating. He zeroed on his route in a matter of seconds and grinned at the prospect of being closer and closer to finding The Savior.

He entered the platform and tried his best to behave like just another guy heading out to lunch from work; perhaps he was an actor, or worked at a fair somewhere that required him to dress up like a pirate. At some point during the (arduous and far too fast for his stomach) train ride, a little boy saddled by his side and touched his leather getup, Killian turned his sickened gaze from the window and grinned at the boy. His mother (who happened to be quite an attractive brunette, to his delight) even took a photo of the two together.

Blackbeard had been right all along: He had gone soft. And he thanked the gods and Emma Swan for it every day.

Finally, his train reached 15th and Prospect. Killian emerged like some victorious knight and once outside, he felt imbibed with the sights; something in him felt right... he knew she was close. Or at least now he had narrowed her down to a two mile radius.

Another park. He took a bench and opened his map, instantly locating his current location. His yearning gaze followed every single blonde woman who passed by and his heart felt a small pang every time, in view of the fact that none were his Emma.

"Where to now? Where are you, Swan?" He whispered, leaning back on the bench, and simply took a few minutes to take in the sights.

It was a peaceful park, some birds cluttered around the floor, picking at nothing, and he suddenly remembered that even Pirates had to eat. He stood up and saw a man dispatching something to a lady from a trolley and wondered what it was about. His stomach growled and he sneered, rubbing it as he approached the guy in the trolley.

"How you want it, mister?" He said in an even odder accent than his own. "Well, I..." He scratched behind his ear. "I don't know... just... what are these things?"

The man gave Killian an odd sneer.

"Dogs, man."

"DOGS!" Killian replied, wide-eyed. As a pirate, he sometimes relished far better on the affectionate company of either a cat, a bird or a canine, so the idea of eating a dog was actually beyond barbaric, even for a formerly bloody pirate such as himself.

The guy huffed. "Look, mister, you want it or don't you?"

"You have other amenities in your menu?" He sneered.

The guy shrugged. "I got falafel..."

"Those are not... Dogs, are they?"

The guy was looking at Killian like one would a crazy person.

"No... they are falafel."

Killian shook his head. "This realm is far more barbaric than I thought. Just how much gold do you want for that... fala... fel...?"

"Five bucks. dude. Same as everywhere." He chuckled "What are you, some euro-trash?"

Killian had no idea what Euro meant; but trash? He stood an inch from the guy's face. "Look here, son: I am way older than I look, I'm hungry, tired, angry and capable of things beyond your wildest, most morbid imaginary concoctions. Now, serve me my food and have done with it or I shall eat... your... TONGUE!"

The guy gulped and swiftly served Killian a falafel. The man was no less stressed when he asked for another one.

When he was done, Killian extended the man's monetary gratification with the kindest grin he could muster up. "Thank you..."

The man pushed the trolley away. "Crazy, bipolar son of a bitch..."

At least physically sated (even though he now had the impervious need to relieve himself), Killian continued to pace around the area, looking for a glimpse of what could be his Emma. As night fell, he realized he wouldn't make it back to his B&B before the sun was down... nor did he care to. He was closer to her, he could feel it. He was never one to feel too cold; many nights spent snoozing under the stars had toughened him enough to sleep pretty much anywhere; so he found a nice bench in the park and huddled up underneath it, tucking his hand (fake and real) beneath his armpits and leaning down on the concrete floor, rolled up as much as he could beneath his thick leather jacket. He closed his eyes and felt himself whisper. "Goodnight Swan..."


	4. Chasing Emma

Captain Hook, the fabled pirate, the buccaneer, handsomest man alive, captain of the fearsome Jolly Roger, famed assassin of the seven seas... sleeping under a bench in a Brooklyn park for a week.

Still, he refused to budge. Swan was nearby, he knew that much. And it wasn't until he was asked by a local cop to kindly take to the shelter showers that he finally felt humbled enough. Like any well-formed sailor, he knew and valued the importance of hygiene, and the idea of reencountering Emma while looking and smelling like a homeless guy didn't give his odds for credibility too much of a boost. So he swallowed pride, accepted a bar of soap and showered accordingly.

Once out of there he made sure he was as far from the shelter as possible. Dignity first.

He was fast running out of money too. He sat and remembered in anguish his days as a child, where after being abandoned by his father and sold into servitude, he and his brother Liam survived on scavenging and begging for the crew’s leftovers before taking to stealing, and he truly didn't fancy becoming a pickpocket in New York City... Not after he had sworn himself a changed man. A lifetime of delinquency would NOT get the best of him any further.

Still, he was concerned when he had paid for his final falafel three days earlier. Being no stranger to the effects of starvation, he was far from happy.

As usual, he made his round in the neighborhood, taking second glances at all blondes around and hoping no one would report him for loitering, which was exactly what he was doing.

Just as hopelessness began to set in, the sound of laughter caught his attention: He turned and found a school bus full of kids at a red light.

Children always lightened his heart. Since Milah, he had never quite seen himself fathering a child with a woman, but more than once he had glanced at Emma in Neverland and imagined her with his son or daughter in her arms; that thought alone was like getting hit with a bucket of ice-cold water, the definitive moment when a man knows his heart is doomed to either find the perfect mate or be broken forever. And as his eyes ran the length of the bus, eyeing each little one with a happy grin, one face made him stop cold.

"Henry..." He gasped, standing suddenly and taking on heel speed as the bus sped away when the green light came. He managed to jump over hoods and honking cars, not getting run over (boy did he remember THAT feeling), trying his best not to lose sight of the bus. He caught breath at every stop and ran whenever the bus started to move again... and finally, the bus allowed Henry down.

Killian took his spyglass from his inner pocket and followed the boy with his eye as he approached the gate of a tall apartment building. He huffed with relief, and started his way to the main door... but stopped himself from his pursuit, a shock wave taking over him: Emma Swan, the Savior, was walking around the corner, groceries bag in one hand, purse in another, looking as wonderful as ever, if not more, smiling and laughing, her gorgeous, golden hair bouncing up and down with each step she took. She greeted Henry with a smile and a kiss, and together, they entered the building.

She was as beautiful, as perfect and luminous as he remembered her. And he didn't know peace until that very moment, when tears threatened to leave his eyes as he whispered her name, "Emma..." a Cheshire cat smile cruising his face.

He'd found her... He'd cruised realms, let go off his home, the Jolly and forfeit his life as a pirate for this woman... and finally, there she was.

It was the last thing he saw before hunger and exhaustion from running at least three miles behind the school bus took over him. His view blackened and he gave in to the vortex beneath his feet as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

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"You all right there, buddy?"

Killian came to and found himself lying on a couch inside someone's home. He sneered and looked at the friendly face before him. It was a man, probably in his fifties, with hair almost as black as his own and a kind smile on his face.

"Wh... what happened?" Killian whispered, wincing.

"You passed out there, mister." The man chuckled. "Flat-out, pancaked on the ground. You've been sleeping all afternoon, I was about to call 911."

Killian tried to sit up, but his head was spinning far worse than with any bestial hangover he had ever endured in his 300 plus year lifetime. "I feel bloody awful..."

"It's no wonder..." the man chuckled. "My wife says she saw you run five blocks, pal." He reached behind him and produced a plate of turkey slices and potato mashing. "Not to mention you've been at the park for a week. Dressed in leather, starving and running around like a fool? Pff… Here..."

Starved, he was not about to allow his pride get in the way of his first decent meal in weeks; He literally snatched the plate from the man and grubbed like swine. To hell with all good form and etiquette! The man side smiled and chuckled. "Wow, dude, take it easy, there's more where that came from!" He narrowed his eyes. "You don't strike me as a homeless dude, there... for one, your garb, pal... why are you dressed like that?"

Hook could have sworn he felt the hair at the back of his neck stand on end at the sound of the same question, but the feeling of gratitude was far more powerful, so he simply ignored the question and continued to stuff his face. When he was done, he raised his big blue eyes to the guy and nodded gently. "Thank you..."

He was being his utmost sincere self when he said it, too.

"So… you have a name buddy?"

He nodded as he wiped his mouth. "Aye… Killian Jones."

The man offered a friendly hand. "I'm Toby."

"Toby?" Hook winced as he shook the man's hand.

"Yeah. I'm the janitor here…." He produced a cigarette and offered one to Killian. "Smoke?"

The prate shook his head. "No thanks, mate… never really was much of a lover of the leaf…"

"Huh…" Toby chuckled. "Good for you. Disgusting habit anyway, it's a miracle I'm still alive." After he lit up, he turned to Killian. "So, Killian… That sounds Irish. You a Mick? Your English is more like… from Cambridge, so…"

A Mick? Cambridge? Killian huffed, completely unaware what the hell the man was talking about, but he simply avoided the issue by grinning and nodding.

"Aye…"

"Huh, so you're probably more of a boozer than a smoker, ha…"

 _Now you're talking!_ Killian thought. "I have a sweet tooth for rum."

Toby nodded. "Well, I don’t know about rum, but I got a flask of Scotch in here somewhere… It was a present from a tenant. Never touch the stuff…" He stood up and turned to look for it nearby while Killian thanked the Gods under his breath. Toby finally handed him the flask and nodded. "I know of a man's needs…"

"Looks like you have a fine head on your shoulders, mate…" Killian smiled fully as he opened the flask and took a swig; and after a week of abstinence, the raspy feel of liquor tasted better than it ever had before, even if this particular bevvy lacked the sweetness of rum. "Cheers…"

Toby chuckled. "So, Killian, is it? How did you wind up a bum?"

Killian took another swig from the flask before closing it and sticking it into his pocket. "I’m not a bum, mate. I've come a long way looking for someone. I was told she lived in Brooklyn, which led me to these environs… alas, I did not know exactly where she lived… so I sort of… camped in the area."

"She… a dame…" he huffed and drew a large puff from his cigarette. "That will usually drive a man to drinking, that's for sure… So, all that running?"

Killian smiled. "I saw her son, in a yellow transport, with other children. So I ran after it."

"And that got you here?"

"Aye…" Killian nodded happily. "And then I saw her and now my life's woes are at an end…"

The man laughed aloud. "You haven't a clue what you're saying there, Killian… When it comes to broads, your life's woes have only just begun…"

Hook laughed with him and shook his head. "Aye, perhaps that’s true… but let's be honest, mate, we go there willingly." He sighed. "My life without her is… pointless, really. Were it not for the hope of seeing her again, I would have died weeks ago. She's my savior. I don't know…" He ran his good hand through his black, shaggy hair. "When you finally meet someone who takes you and uproots you completely to sort of… plant you in brand new soil, and you suddenly realize that you are much more than just… scum rabble; when a woman has that particular influence in your life, when she brings light and hope to an otherwise ineffectual and purposeless existence, well…" He smiled and tilted his head as he once again produced the flask and opened it. "I will gladly yield to a few of life's woes at her side." He looked to the floor. "It's a damn sight better than enduring them alone, I can tell you that…"

Toby nodded. "I can agree to that, mister…" He reached out for Killian's flask, and as the pirate handed him the bottle, Toby spoke again. "So, can I ask you a question?"

"You sated a hungry man, Toby, you are more than entitled to inquire to your heart's content."

Toby scratched his head. "You have a fake hand, there…"

"Aye, quite observant of you."

"What happened there, man?"

"A maritime accident, mate."

"Maritime?" Toby asked, wide-eyed "You're a U.S. Navy guy, or somethin'?"

Killian shook his head. "Alas, no… merely a captain of my own ship, which I sadly possess no longer."

"Ah, a freelance guy…"

Hook laughed a healthy laugh. "Aye, you could say that. Quite freelance."

"Is that why you dress like a pirate?"

The young captain sighed. "Aye. I do sort of love the swag, though, don't you?"

Toby laughed. "Does give you a touch of class…"

"Finally, a man with proper tastes!"

Both men laughed together before quieting down.

"So, this… chick you're lookin' for…" Toby licked his lips. "She pretty?”

Killian's face lit up. "Aye. Remarkably, more so than all the stars in the sky." He sat back and sighed, his eyes strayed in the image of his Swan as he painted her in his mind. "And she has a fire… she's no bloody damsel in distress, mate, she's… strong, willful, even. Terrible temper. But she does make the stars shine brighter…"

Toby laughed healthily. "You are besotted there, my friend."

"Aye, indeed I am, won't deny it." He bit his lip.

"So, what does this no-bloody-damsel-in-distress look like?"

Killian smiled the whole time. "She's… slender, not overly tall. Long hair, golden like the sun. A perfect smile, a constant flush of red on her cheeks..." He sighed hard. "Her eyes are green, they speak from her soul. She's quite an open book to me. They shine bright, even on the darkest of nights and direst of toils… Green, mate. As green as a watered field…"

"Huh…" The man nodded. "Kind of sounds like our Emma…"

The Captain shot his face up at the man. "What?"

"Emma Swan. She's on the third floor…" He chuckled. "Single mom. Quite the knockout."

Hook all but ceased breathing and felt he was probably bound to faint again. "You… know Emma Swan?"

"Of course, we do." The man shrugged and sneered. "Told you. I'm the janitor. She lives on the third floor with her boy."

The man immediately noticed how Killian all but lost his color and he frowned as he bit his lip. "Ahhh." He nodded, the situation dawning on him. "So SHE'S your… "savior"."

Killian literally went on his knees, something he hadn't done since the death of his brother. "I beg of you…. Direct me there. Please! It's vital!"

Toby pressed his lips together. "Well…" He shrugged standing up. "I suppose I could let you up there… I like you better than that other guy…"

The sound of Toby's last three words suddenly made Killian's heart stop. "O…Other guy?"

"Yeah, some rich nerd she's dating. Ugly guy, stiff, a real snob. Never liked him." Seeing how the handsome sailor had suddenly frozen in panic, Toby laughed. "Now now, don't let that deter you, pal; you go get her! People who don't fight for what they want, deserve what they get and hey, you slept under a bench and starved for a week, sailor, I'm rootin' for ya."

Slightly more downhearted, Killian hoped and prayed that once she recovered her memories, she would see him and remember him… that kiss, that mouth-watering kiss from Neverland, his one single tactile memory of her, if she didn't respond instantly, he'd give it a go. He remembered the look in her eyes when they said goodbye… there was something deep, something that bound them together. His heartache fizzled at the thought of her being only a few stories above him.

"Yes…" he nodded, still put off but determined to win her heart the straight way, as he had promised. "I thank you…"

He was standing up when Toby stopped him. "Whoa whoa, you can't go now, pal, it's late! She's probably asleep by now! Listen…" The man winked. "Stay here, on this couch. The wife and I are cool with it. She's usually up around eight and takes Henry to the bus stop at around nine. So she's having breakfast at around 8:30. Give it a go then."

Killian knew he really could use a good night's sleep. She was there, practically breathing the same air as he was, so he'd definitely go there early the next morning. He kindly accepted Toby's hospitality and allowed himself to drift off into deep sleep on the janitor’s bunk.

He rose with the first morning light, found his way to the washroom Toby had indicated and followed the man's instructions: Third floor, door number 311.

He could feel his stomach twist, turn and churn as he reached the third floor. He looked in the direction of the markings on the doors and finally, he stood before number 311. He could hear music stemming from within and he swallowed deep as he closed his eyes and tapped on the door with his right fist.

Nothing.

He repeated the action.

The sound of soft, bare feet walking towards the door made his heart race.

And the door opened… to display the apparition of her… her whole self… His Emma.

There were no words in any language that would accurately describe the sudden joy seeing her again brought to his face as she looked on him, still clad in her night clothes and as beautiful as the morning itself. He felt an inevitable smile split his face and he had to fight not to cry before her.

"Swan… at last…"


	5. Jogging her Memory

For every ounce of love and devotion in his eyes, the woman before him returned the gaze with a fearful, quizzical demeanor.

As he pushed forward to her, she raised her hand and stopped him dead in his tracks. "Wait... do I know you?" She asked, bewildered.

Short for words, Killian went straight into business. "Look, I need your help. Something's happened, something terrible; your family's in danger..."

Emma sneered slightly as she snapped back. "My family's right here, who are you?"

The pirate felt his knees weaken; that drive, that spunk of hers... how he had missed it!

"I'm an old friend..." He spoke, nearly a whisper.

He then thought up a plan; he had heard stories of different couples breaking curses through True Love's Kiss. If his suspicions were certain and she secretly felt for him the same way he felt about her, it would be worth a shot, especially since he knew how Swan was when it came to trusting people, let alone people who were, as far as she knew, perfect strangers. And from the look on her face, that was exactly what he was.

He'd go for broke.

"Look I know you can't remember me..." He bit his lower lip. "But I can make you."

He lurched forward and stole a swift kiss, and the brief second was heavenly until he was quite abruptly brought back to reality by the sudden thrust of her knee into his groin. A very hard thrust.

 _Ok, that didn't quite work out how I had hoped_ , he thought as he winced and fell back to the wall in pain, hands holding his crotch.

"What the hell are you doing!?" She exclaimed, completely shocked.

It was hard for Killian to muster up the words through gritted teeth. "A long shot... I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did."

"All you're gonna feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops!" She snapped.

What was it with this woman and shackles?

"Look, I know this seems crazy!" He cried desperately. "But you have to listen to me! You have to remem..."

SLAM! Door shut in his face.

Recovering from the painful thud, Hook limped his way back to the stairs. "One down..." He mumbled to himself with a chuckle, voice husky and hoarse from the blow, as he settled on the step to completely recover. "Bloody hell, Swan, good to see you haven't lost your touch."

A few minutes later, he heard the sound of her door opening. "Nope, he's gone!" Came Henry's voice. Hook walked a few steps up and hid, looking behind a wall as Emma jostled with keys, purse, red jacket (not the leather one, but red all the same... that woman), cell phone and lunch bag. "Go on, you'll miss the bus!" She smiled at Henry.

As the boy passed by him, Killian remained unseen and was fortunate enough to catch the whiff of her hair as she passed by him, behind her son. It made him smile to think that this amazing woman had once pressed his lips to his of her own volition.

He'd make her remember. If it took pains and death, he'd make her.

Silently, he followed her to the bus stop, hiding behind trees, walls, posts and pillars. For someone with Emma's intuition, Killian was actually quite surprised that she hadn't noticed someone was following her, but was grateful for it. He blamed her lack of memory, the curse and the blasted, noisy surroundings for the hinderance in her otherwise very acute sensibilities. The city was sheer lunacy! Cars honking, lights flashing, people pushing other people around...

She reached her office and he was content to remain outside, waiting for her to finish her shift after long hours. If he remembered right, she was a “bail-bonds person”, a fancy word for a bounty hunter, so he was grateful to see she didn’t have to be out chasing anyone that day; he really didn’t think he had the strength to run around at her pace. He resumed his stalking as soon as he saw her coming back out; he was once again feeling hungry and thirsty and in need of a toilet, but he held out long enough to walk behind her as she headed back home.

Like the day before, he halted a few yards away and saw how Henry arrived first, and was greeted by Emma just meters away from the door to their apartment. He knew that going back in after them would probably be a first-hand invitation to get busted by whatever order guarded this city, so he just waited out. Once again, he sat around, cold, shivering, thinking that perhaps this would be it for the day... but then...

At around eight, she emerged once more... And was she a sight for sore eyes! Her hair was done to perfection, her already natural beauty enhanced with makeup, and legs… she showed legs!! "Leather, Swan?" He smiled to himself, trying to get a grip on his own imagination. "Bloody hell..."

She wore a short dress in black leather with the same long, red jacket he had seen earlier on her. But Killian felt a slight tinge of panic when she suddenly boarded a taxi.

He managed to stop one for himself "Follow that car, please.." He commanded as the cabs followed each other into Manhattan.

As the car ahead of him finally pulled over, Killian observed in silence as she stepped out.

"That'll be 65.50, buddy..."

"Oh, aye, about that... hang on..."

Without any ceremony, Hook used his hard-as-steel left prosthetic hand on the man's neck and he fell instantly unconscious. "Sorry about that mate, strenuous circumstances..."

He walked out and stood around no more than twenty yards back, watching her as she walked into what seemed to be some sort of Inn or Tavern, with people dressed far too elegantly for the likes of his Enchanted Wood pirate style. She sat at an outdoor table... And then, Killian Jones felt the bitter taste of bile when he saw that she was joining a man... and kissed him,. Gently. On his lips. Smiling.

So THAT was the other guy!

"Bloody bastard…" he hissed under his breath as he looked at them through his spyglass. "Bloody soddin' bastard…"

In spite of himself, he knew there wasn't much of a battle to fight there; Emma Swan's memories of him had been encased in a curse and placed in a vault inside her mind to which the potion in his pocket was the only key. As far as she knew, she and the pirate had never met, let alone made out in the middle of the jungle.

But how to make her drink from the small vial? She hardly trusted her own shadow…

From across the street, Killian stared at her, leaning against a tree, waiting for his chance. As soon as the "other guy" stood up and left Emma alone at the table, he made his move.

The woman was texting a message, a calm and happy grin plastered on her face; Killian wasn't sure if he was pleased with the beauty of her demeanor or if it infuriated the hell out of him, considering it was addressed to "the other guy". He sat square across from Emma.

"YOU!" She jumped.

Killian raised his hand. "I can explain…"

Emma gasped. "You are a stalker!"

"Look, don't scream, just hear me out…" He begged as she slowly reached for a meat knife by her side. "I don't do this very often, so treasure it, love…." Emma stared at him expectantly and Killian closed his eyes. "I've come to apologize…"

"For trying to kiss me?"

"I was simply trying to jog your memory…" He pleaded.

She stared him square in the eye with that passion he knew so well. "It's time for you to go. Now."

"Emma, your parents are in great danger."

"You REALLY don't know what you're talking about." She replied calmly but firmly.

Killian nodded. "Because you think you're an orphan, and that's haunted you your whole life?" He held her stare as she furrowed her brow and let her guard down slightly. "Well, I'm here to tell you that everything you believe is wrong."

She looked back into his cerulean eyes. "You don't know me."

"Oh lass, I know you better than you know yourself." He mumbled softly. As he reached into his pocket, Emma clenched her hand tighter around the knife. "I have proof…" He said, before producing a little piece of white paper. "Here… take a gander."

On the paper was a written address; one that he had gotten during his research of Emma and Neal's numbers. Being unlisted, she had been much harder to find, but Neal's squatting joint was all too easy.

"Here's an address. If you want to know who you really are, who your parents are… go there."

"Leave. Now."

"You've been there before, a year ago; you just don't remember."

"A year ago I was in Boston." She affirmed dismissively. "Till a fire destroyed my apartment and I came here to have a fresh start with my son."

Killian chuckled at the irony; Swan, the savior, the slayer of dragons, the one who had shed the light on how to defeat pan, realm traveler, the only woman to have ever bested the fearsome Captain Hook… running from a little condo fire.

"Regina really did a number on you…" he grinned, nibbling on his lower lip.

"You're a crazy person… or a liar, or both." She sat back, shaking her head.

As it was his way, Hook responded with a typical sassy line that would have normally made her at least grin and roll her eyes. "I prefer 'dashing rapscallion'…" When she only glared at him with a cold, daggering stare, he raised an eyebrow. "Scoundrel?"

"Give me one good reason not to punch you in the face…" she replied, her eyes dark.

He held her angered glare. "You really don't believe me? Then try using your 'superpower'…" she frowned and leaned back, probably wondering how he knew that. "Yep…" He nodded. "I know about that. Go on, use it and see that I'm telling you the truth…"

She looked into his eyes and for the briefest second, Killian saw a glimpse of that stare she had given him in Neverland. The line "You can't handle it" played in his head like an orchestra. Finally, Emma sat back. "Just because you believe something, doesn't mean it's true…"

 _Well, at least she can see I'm not a liar_ , he thought.

"May be, maybe not… but I know you, Swan. You sense something's off. Go to that address; take a chance. Then you'll want to talk. When you do, I'll be in Central Park, by the entrance to the zoo…"

By now, her expression had gone from anger to incredulity, as if she were seriously pondering his words.

"Don't do it for me…" He quipped, looking at her from beneath his brow. "… or for you. Do it for your family. They need your help, love."

And then, as swiftly as he had sat himself down, he stood up and left, leaving a quizzical expression on her face.

At least he had planted the seed of doubt. It had to fall into place… it just had to.

He crossed the street to Central Park and took one final look back through his spyglass. He nearly tumbled back when he saw the "other guy" down on one knee. The air left his lungs and he could have sworn his heart was being ripped out his chest, a feeling similar to that when the Crocodile had dug his hand deep in his flesh to grab the thumping organ.

"Oh, no…" He whispered, his hand trembling. "Emma… don't… Please, don't…"

Suddenly, she stood up and stormed out of the place, looking confused. Killian laughed a loud, relieved cackle and closed down his spyglass. "That's a good girl…" He nodded. He then positioned himself behind a tree and observed as "the other guy" caught up with her outside and exchanged some words with her. "Yes, she turned you down, you smarmy sod…" He continued to whisper to himself as he saw first-hand how Emma tried to explain her behavior. He knew her too well to know that she was taken aback and was, as he remembered, scared as hell of formal relationships. He swallowed hard as the pair ended their evening with a soft kiss from him on her forehead. "Get your bloody paws off of her…" He hissed again, before Emma stepped into another taxi to get back home.

Killian Jones had only ever loved two women in his life: the first one, Milah, had died no more than a year or two after they met, and was always with him and him alone; the second was Emma Swan. With her came the woes of uncertainty, unrequited affection and now, a solid, direct rival who had the upper hand. In spite of all sorts of emotions experienced during his unnaturally long life, jealousy was a completely new feeling… and it hurt.

However, the dice had been cast; Hook knew it was only a matter of time before her curiosity got the best of Emma Swan. She'd come back to him. She'd always come back to him….

And he too would always go back to her, to be there, to find her and help her, wherever she might be. For now, it was just a matter of waiting… and starving again as he found himself another unsolicited bench in the park.

No matter; he could brace the cold and famine… she was worth it.

"Hey... hey buddy!" A homeless gut tapped on his shoulder. "Spare a dollar, buddy?"

Hook shrugged. "Sorry mate... I have none."

"Y'all always sayin' that, goddamn cheapskates..." The bum groaned. "Go on, pal, a dime?"

He pulled Hook by the shoulder and the pirate shook himself lose. "I'm telling you, mate, I have no gold on me as of present time!" He groaned. "Now leave me be!"

The homeless guy sneered at Hook, his breath reminding the Captain of wayward nights and drunken binges. "Fine then, you cheap asshole..." He ran his eyes up and down Killian's garb. "Why the hell are you dressed like that?"

"Umph..." Killian growled with gritted teeth rolling his eyes as he turned around and started his search for a decent bench for the next night... or two, no problem.


	6. Bologna

Two nights exactly he spent in Central Park waiting (hoping) for Swan to show up. He knew her well enough to believe that deep down in her heart, she remembered him, their kiss, her family, how she had come to be in New York and the small town where her son had lived, as opposed with the barrage of fake memories Regina had kindly implanted in her to spare her and the boy the pain of knowing she'd never see them again... him.

He was weak once more... hungry, cold and sleepy. But he had endured far worse during his years as renowned Pirate Captain Hook Jones. A pirate's life is fairly tough... but he knew that no pain, no ache in his three hundred plus history of piracy, love and revenge, could have matched the agony of not having her by his side, so he preferred struggling to survive a few more days in this blasted city, whether or not she remembered him; just as long as she was within a ten mile radius of him.

It was early one morning when she showed up, anxiously pacing in his direction. His heart skipped a few beats as he smiled at her. "Swan! I knew it would work, it's good to see you again!"

And he meant that... it was more than good. Even if her dour expression heralded a dire time ahead.

"Why didn't you tell me that was Neal's place?" She snapped.

She was clearly annoyed; as far as she remembered, Neal was the jerk that had knocked her up and left her to her own means as she struggled with an eleven month jail sentence, which should have been his; he was the bozo who had made a complete fool out of her and carelessly escaped to Canada while she raised their son through blood, sweat and tears. She'd obviously believe this strange, oddly dressed individual with the handsome, begging eyes and the unbelievable story about "her family" was likely a friend of Neal's, trying to pave the way for the father of her child to oil his way back into their lives. Defensive was an understatement.

"I think the tone of your voice answers that quite clearly..." He spoke calmly. "You never would have gone there if I had."

"What does Neal have you up to?" She challenged, "Is he trying to get into Henry's life? How does he even KNOW about us?"

"I've already told you; I'm not here because of Neal." He returned the intensity of her gaze with aplomb. "I'm here because your family is in trouble, your parents' entire kingdom has been cursed! Ripped back to Storybrooke..."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" She winced at him. "My parents? Their kingdom? A curse? Do you know what you sound like?"

Killian pondered for a few seconds and felt decidedly embarrassed... and hurt. Not because of her words, but because of how blatantly she had forgotten it all... how she truly had no clue about what he was saying and how important and unique she was in this entire situation. She was as much of a stranger to the notion of curses and stories as he was to her, and knowing that made his heart wrench into a prune.

"Like a madman, I'm sure..." He sighed, looking to the floor and trying hard not to appear much too vulnerable. He then raised his face back up to her eyes, pleading. "But it's all true. Your parents need you, and you're the only one who can help them..." Emma rolled her eyes and he shook his head. "...If you don't believe me at all, why did you come here?"

"Because Neal..." She shuffled through her bag and produced a camera strap. "...has a camera with my son's name on it! HOW, WHY!?" She snapped.

"Don't you see? That is the proof of what I'm saying!" He insisted. "Henry must have left it in the apartment when you were in New York last year!"

"Not good enough." She replied dryly. "I want answers. Real ones."

Hook swallowed hard and licked his lips, knowing the moment of truth had come at last. "There's only one way you'll get those..." He reached into his vest pocket and produced the small bottle that had been attached to the bird's leg. "Drink this."

"Drink the thing the crazy guy just gave me? No thank you." She spat back.

"It will help you remember everything you've lost." He begged. "If one small part of you senses that, don't you think you owe it to yourself to find out if I'm right?"

Emma remained silent, studying his face, and in spite of her relentless questioning, he knew that the coils in her head had started turning. It wouldn't be easy... but she'd end up believing him.

He spoke, his gentlest tone of voice, as he implored for her trust. "What do you say, love? Take a leap of faith, give it a go."

After she stared into his eyes for a few seconds, he was starting to hope she was actually giving him the benefit of doubt... until she reached out and handcuffed his hand. "Call me love again and you lose your other hand." She pulled him down and cuffed the other end of the shackle to the park bench.

"Swan, what are you doing?"

"I'm making sure you never bother me, or my son again." She then whistled out and two cops emerged from behind a statue. "This is him, this is the guy who assaulted me. "

Killian looked and felt slightly horrified to see that these were the same Central Park cops that he had all but duped a few days earlier with the story of his "terminal" disease. All the more, he was very distraught to hear her accuse him of assault, when that kiss had been meant with every ounce of love his heart had been able to muster, a kiss of true love, at least on his part.

“Well Bob, look who it is… our “dashing” friend from the park!”

"It was just a kiss!" He explained, all innocence, as the policemen cuffed his hands behind his back.

"There! He confessed!" She grinned coldly.

"You're under arrest for assault and criminal harassment, sir..." The cop he knew now to be named Bob started saying. "You have the right to remain silent... "

"Swan, please, you're making a mistake!" He beseeched her, his biggest fear of getting locked up in this city without a single document to prove his identity, maybe even winding up in a lunatic asylum for his hairbrained story of realm-crossing and pirates and curses. His panic rose as she walked away. "A terrible, terrible mistake!" He tried to pry away from the cops, until he finally shouted in despair. "SWAN! YOUR FAMILY NEEDS YOU!"

She never stopped, not even to look back at him.

He'd lost her once again... and his heart broke once more.

"I... I need you... Swan..." He whispered, hanging his head low.

"All right there, buddy." The other cop shook his head. "Let’s see if your “terminal illness” does away with you in the clink... Stalker."

He posed no resistance as they walked him away through the park, all eyes on the "guy that got busted".

The cop called Bob placed his hand on Killian's head as he led him into the back of the police car. "And here we thought that you'd be dead by now..."

Killian sighed deep and finally, a wayward tear ran its course down his face. "I may very well be soon..." He whispered.

H&E&H&E& H&E&H&E&

In the jail cell, Killian lay, curled up in a ball on the mattress. He'd been imprisoned before and this was a far cry from the medieval brigs he’d been kept in through various times of his life, but he had never felt so alone, so utterly lost and downhearted. She really didn't even hold a single ounce of hope; that fire inside was completely snuffed out. His Emma, the fierce savior, the woman with the resilience of a thousand men and the wit of a pirate, the curse-breaker and realm cruising lady of his every dream, was gone from inside of her. "Why?" He whispered, tears still falling from his eyes. No sobs left his chest, no hope for the future... for even though he truly believed in her and her power, he knew that while she remained stoic and cold, she would never remember. "All for nothing... all that... for nothing..." He whispered on.

She'd go on and marry the stuffy guy from the restaurant; he'd raise Henry as his own and she would have that man's babies instead of his. She would die an old lady, completely unaware of who she was and who, he knew, she could really rely on... and hopefully eventually get to love. All that was gone.

"Hey there, Jones..." The cop called for him.

He didn't even turn his head.

"It's been three days, Jones. You haven't touched a meal..."

He was quite aware of that. He was already halfway starved. Perhaps, if he stopped eating altogether, he'd either die or pass out and the ache would all but cease. Whichever came first.

"You all right in there, pal?"

Still no answer. The sound of the cop's voice sounded more and more distant. Praise the sea goddess Ursula.

The cop huffed and opened the jail cell with his key and walked to Killian, who didn't even budge when the cop, one hand on his gun and another on his forehead, huffed. "Guys!" He called out. "The pirate guy's passed out! We might need a paramedic!"

That was the last thing he heard before waking up, still in his jail cell and handcuffed to the bars, with a serum drop in his arm. He groaned and tried to pry away from the steel bar, but was still far too weak. They had removed his leather trench coat and ripped the sleeve of his one good shirt... his only shirt, actually. He turned his head and saw what he clearly recognized as a medic.

 _'Blasted doctors, all wear white no matter which realm..._ ', he thought as he leaned back.

"Hey there." The doctor grinned. "You got a death wish, buddy... You look like you've not had a meal in a week."

"That's quite perceptive..." He mumbled.

"Listen..." The doctor grinned kindly as he adjusted the drop. "...whatever it is that has toiled you to the point of starving yourself to death? Not worth it."

"Oh, you’ve no clue." Killian replied dryly.

"Naa.." The doctor smiled. "Listen, we might have to call the psych department on ya, buddy. Seeing that this is actually more of a suicide attempt than a legitimate situation of unintentional famine." He sat back down. "You don't want that, do you? To wind up in the looney bin?"

That was actually a fate worse than death.

"No." He replied.

"Good." The doctor grinned. "So... what led you to this? Stalking a woman and starving yourself to this point?"

He swallowed hard and realized he had to actually cooperate if this horrid, new enclosure was to be his home for the rest of his days. He sat up with a grunt. “I’m not stalking her, I would never do anything to harm her at all. She knows who I am, she just doesn’t remember… but it no longer matters.” He sighed. "I've lost her... forever..."

"Come on… there's plenty other fish in the sea..."

"As someone who has spent considerable time at sea mate, I can tell you, there’s no other at all like her.” He shook his head “Alas, you don't understand. She's the savior, she... there is no other like her anywhere in any world. Literally, mate, I'm not talking in euphemisms, here."

The doctor grinned and nodded. "Just... why are you dressed like that?"

Killian huffed and smacked his head back against his pillow. That question again. "That doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"Look, you look like a fairly handsome guy, you look like you have your wits... You're letting yourself go over a woman?"

Killian chuckled. "Like I said... she's not just a woman." He turned his huge cerulean eyes to the doctor and for a second, the MD actually felt the man's pain. "She's unique. Believe me when I tell you, there's not another like her in this entire world... or in any other, for that matter."

"Wow, man... you really are head over heels in love with this woman, aren't you?" he chuckled. "We all feel that way about that special someone at some point in our lives, but it’s never really worth dying for. It’ll pass."

"Matters not..." He averted his gaze to conceal the tears that threatened to show once more. "She has no recollection of me..."

"No recollection?"

"I told you, she knows me, but doesn’t recall that she does. She and I... we've been through the mill together. I know her like nobody in the world knows her; but... something happened. Her memories are gone... She does not remember me. It's futile."

"Selective amnesia?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Yeah. It's a pathologic impairment of memory. Amnesia is usually the result of physical damage to areas of the brain from injury, disease, or alcoholism."

Killian huffed. "It's a bloody curse..."

"Yeah, and then some." The doctor sighed. "So you do actually know her?"

"Yes. Her name is Emma Swan. Daughter of Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan, grew up in the foster system in Boston, has a twelve year old boy, Henry, fathered by a man named Neal Cassidy. She’s a bail-bonds person..." he resorted to the memory implant Regina had given her that he had learned from talking with her at the restaurant. "...came over to New York when her apartment in Boston caught fire." He grinned. "She loves grilled cheese and hot cocoa with heaps of cinnamon, loves to dip her finger in the whip cream to taste it before she takes the first sip..." Tears finally rolled down the sides of his face as he continued. "She wears the ring her boy's father gave her around her neck because he let her down and let her do jail time for something he did and she doesn't want to forget. She sleeps with her eyes ever so slightly open and sometimes even whispers in her sleep. She is strong, willful and stubborn, but kind-hearted, loving and...” He grinned. “...a bloody great kisser."

The doctor chuckled along with him.

"I have to know something, Mr..." He read from the file. "Jones..."

" Hook, please... or Captain."

"Captain… Hook?" The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"You might have noticed my left hand's missing?"

The doctor laughed. "Clever. I take it you got that from bullying? Defense mechanism?”

"Aye. That’s right." Killian agreed, not wanting to enter into debacles over the true origin of his name; the concept of maybe ending up in a Nut House was really quite unappealing.

"Ok, Captain, I have to know something: If this woman is in medical trouble, as a doctor I need to verify her condition. Selective amnesia is no joke." He sat up. "I can pay her a visit."

"Wish I could help you..." Killian swallowed. "Alas, I have no idea what the precise address is. I could walk you there, but I honestly don't know what the streets are named, nor do I have any recollection of the number she resides in."

The doctor clucked his tongue. "And getting you to take me there is going to be a bit hard with you in here..."

"Aye."

"So..." The doctor side-grinned. "I take it you're the boyfriend... Or were…"

Killian grinned. "Something of the sort... More like a suitor she favors and is too scared to acknowledge."

The man nodded. "Listen, all you've said to me will be taken into account when we trial you. Seems to me you're on the level."

_Trial?_

"That I am... alas, I see no reason why I should be released, mate..." He said as he sat up, feeling much better. "The woman thinks of me as a marauder and a stalker. She hates me."

"Not as much as you think, buster..." Came a cop's voice from the cell door together with the sound of the keys opening the jail cell lock. "You made bail. That pretty blond lady paid it and dropped the charges."

It was strange to see how color returned to his face as a smile crossed his lips. "Emma..." He whispered with a smile, and he stood up, jerking the needle out of his arm.

He was stopped by both the doctor and the warden. "Let me go!"

"Sorry, sir." The doctor pulled him back and sat him on the bed. "We can't legally let you out like this..."

"Like what?"

"You're starved. You gotta eat something before you go or you'll be passing out around the curb and then WE will be accused of brutality." The cop shrugged and turned back to produce a plate of something that looked... well, dead. And ghastly. And worse than Jell-o. “You just make sure you eat this and you’re free to go after that.”

"What the bloody hell is that?" he sneered.

"Bologna." The cop nodded.

"Ba-lo-ney?" He replied raising his eyebrows.

"Yep. Bologna. Got more back there, if you like..."

"I'm not putting that into my mouth, mate."

"Well, we're not letting you out till you do... _'mate_ '!"

Killian huffed and suddenly tried to make a break for it. The cop stopped him by the door and before Killian could deliver a decent thud on his face, the doctor had pretty much injected something into him.

The Captain felt dizzy once more and fell back on the bed. "What... is...?"

"Sorry, Killian." The doctor shrugged. "It's for your own good... come on." He cut up the meat and took a forkful to Killian's mouth. "The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can go with your little lady..."

Groggy and sickened by the appearance and smell of the luncheon meat sitting before him, Killian huffed. "She'd better bloody remember me... she'd really better bloody remember me soon."

So he opened his mouth and allowed the doctor to feed him the sickly, pink meat. Not one hour later, he threw it all up.

Two hours later and once he had been equally force-bathed and cleaned, they handed him his personals (it was good to be back in his leathers) and he frantically checked for his memory potion. He was profoundly relieved to find it still sitting in his vest breast pocket... as well as the flask of rum that had been kindly given to him by Toby, his rings, his necklace, his earring and his hand. His hook had been quite cleverly concealed in one of the many secret pockets his leather trench coat offered and that had, for many years, served many purposes for piracy and smuggling.

There was a reason he loved that thing.

He clicked his hand back on to his brace and looked up into the sky as he stepped out of the precinct; breathing in the open again was a welcome feeling after three days inside.

"Hey!"

That voice... he instantly turned his face to her, a beacon for him, every time. Even when she didn't remember him, she was still the most glorious sight for his very old, sore eyes.

"We need to talk!" She said, looking both alarmed, scared and serious as all hell.

"Oh, Swan!" He smiled as he paced down, wanting to run to her but still a little too weak to do so. "I knew you wouldn't let me rot in that cage! I've been in my fair share of brigs..." he held his finger out at the precinct door. "... but none as barbaric as that! They force-fed me something called _'ba-lo-ney'_..."

Emma hardly paid any attention to what he said; she just produced a set of images (the ones he had known before, while in Storybrooke, called photographs) and flashed them, one by one, before his face. It was a series of images of her and Henry in Storybrooke, at the airport with Mr. Gold and at Granny's, the little diner she had cherished so much for its unique hot cocoa. "What the hell are these?" She spoke in angst. "We never lived in a town called Storybrooke, we never took a flight from Boston to New York, we never did ANY of this!"

"So you believe me, then?" He nodded.

"I don't know! You could have photoshopped these!"

"Photoshopped?" He sneered, wondering if perhaps this time she was the one starting to sound a little insane.

"Faked..." She huffed, seeing in his eyes that he really was honest and had no clue what she was saying.

"If you think these are forgeries, then why did you spring me from the brig?" He shook his head. "Because as much as you deny it, you know that something's wrong, deep down you KNOW I'm right."

She started to look more concerned for her own sanity than angry. "It's impossible... How can I forget ALL of this?"

"I promise you... there's an explanation."

"Not one that makes sense." She stubbornly stated.

 _'Give in already Swan!_ ', he thought, as he once again produced the little blue flask. "If you drink this... it all will."

Emma looked hesitantly from the flask in his hands to his eyes and swallowed hard. "If... IF what you're saying is true, then I have to give up my life here!"

"It's all based on lies!" He insisted.

"It's real!" She looked so hurt and scared that Hook nearly allowed himself to hug her hard. "And it's pretty good! I have Henry, a job... a guy I love!"

That last line had Killian swallowing hard and he needed to remember to breathe. It felt like a swift cut into his gut.

"Perhaps there's another you loved in the life that you lost..." He said, almost breaking down, and it was plain for Emma to see he was probably talking about himself. "Regardless..." He composed himself and continued. "If you want to find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies?"

By now she was looking so distraught that his voice also began to crack.

"You know this isn't right, Swan!" He said, looking around. "Trust your gut, it will tell you what to do."

Emma froze. "Henry always says that..."

"Well if you won't listen to me, then listen to your boy..."

There was something in the way this man was looking at her that made Emma shudder inside. There was a lot of hope, worry and even... yearning? No, not that. She sighed and hesitantly took the tiny flask. After uncorking the tiny bottle, she took one last look into the cerulean eyes of her companion: there was no trace of deception, and she knew very well how easily she could have detected it, had it been there. This guy couldn't have been more honest and true if he were the Dalai Lama. So, with one last sigh, and knowing well that, if she passed out, she was in the middle of a busy street and right in front of a police precinct, she took the blue bottle to her lips, swiftly ingesting its contents.

As the memories started to stir in her mind, she swooned and Killian reached out to steady her, feeling terribly unsteady himself. He held her by the elbow as she convulsed mildly, memories flooding her mind... and a few seconds later, she opened her eyes again.

Killian stared expectantly... and when she spoke "Hook..." with a breathy sigh, he smiled once again.

That other Emma was frail and unaware; this one could take his flirty grin; it was his Emma again.

"Did you miss me?" He winked.

But when her face fell instead of smiling, he lost his cheeky grin. Tears sprung into her eyes. "I... I didn't raise him... Henry... I didn't keep him. I left him! I turned my back on him! I abandoned him!"

The hurt of seeing her remember that particularly painful episode cut through him like a knife. He hated being the one to cut these wounds open again. She looked at him and, out of nowhere, simply threw her arms around him. "Killian... You bastard... It's good to see you again, you pirate son of a bitch..." She wept, a mix of emotions flooding her. "Hook..."

He held her as she wept into his chest, trying hard to remain steady on his feet and saying nothing as he simply allowed her to fall into his embrace. Much as he hated the sight of her aching this way, he also relished in having her in his arms. He closed his eyes and sank his face into her shoulder.

As they pulled away, he grinned at her and cleared the hair away from her messy face. "Come now..." He smiled. "Welcome back, Emma..."

And then he was the one to swoon.

"Whoa whoa!" She steadied him, snivelling. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Ba-lo-ney..." he shook his head and took his finger to the spot between his brows, before pointing at the precinct with his thumb. "In there."

"And before that?"

"Last week? Maybe less, I don't know, a few days... "

She huffed and cleaned her eyes. "Really?"

"I'm fresh out of your realm's currency, Swan. Can't believe how pricey this bloody city is..."

She grinned a sad grin and chuckled as she held onto his arm, for mutual support. "Come on..." She started walking. "Let's get to my place and get you something to eat..." She smiled. "It won't be bologna, I promise."

"What indeed a relief, Emma. What... a... relief."

They both knew he wasn't just talking about the nasty luncheon meat any more.


End file.
